D Scale
by HorribleDreamsOfANightmare
Summary: Demyx, 19, has been struggling with debt since his father died and he has nothing to give but himself in payment. Zexion, 18, a famous cellist, holds a dark past that never ceases to leave him alone. Starts off slowwww... ZEMYX


_**A/N: what am I doing with my life? I need to finish my other stories, yet here I am, starting a new one. But this has been in my documents for awhile now and I wanted to get it done, just to get it done... if that makes sense... hehehe~ alright, well here's another story from meee Zemyx this time. Much Love, Horrible 3333**_

_**Disclaimer: Okay, seriously I **_**wish_ I owned Kingdom Hearts. But I don't. So sad... Enjoy_**

Each breath he took sent waves of pain into his hyperventilating lungs, shaking with each exhale, gasping with each intake. He was slowly loosing feeling in his hands and arms, for they were bound too tightly for his body to pump the oxygen poor blood through the veins that resided there. Black spots dotted around his vision, his mind slowly shutting down as his body just refused to _feel_ anymore. His eyes were shut tight, fearing that if he opened them, he'd see the eyes that bored into him every chance they got, looking at his form, absorbing it, taking it in… then contaminating it. Each breath that fell over his neck and face sent a new found nausea into his stomach, his reflexes in the muscles jerking upwards, trying their very best to make him throw up; but coming to no avail. The hips grinding at his were beginning to leave marks, if only slightly; but he could no longer feel the bones scraping together from the amount of force this man was putting on him.

He hated this.

He hated the way this man touched him with such roughness, such force.

It drove him fucking_ insane._

The small noises of pure agony he made were taken as pleasure and the man hovering over him only grinded, licked and bit harder, finding immense erotic pleasure in these small noises as his small nerves in his arms made them twitch with the pins that stabbed at him.

At least this new found pain would distract him from the others that were gnawing at him.

The man shifted positions, if only slightly, giving relief to his captive before thrusting into him again. He was slick, _extremely_ slick, having come twice already thanks to the drug they so easily slipped into his drink. But did that stop the man who slides into him so feverishly, so dispassionately, so full of dominance?

No. Of course it didn't. This man has yet to reach his euphoria of amazing heat and high. He was close, but not quite there yet, thus, causing his partner an extreme pain that could only respond with blood.

So much blood…

He could feel it escaping him from so many places, even through all of the numbness he had been blissfully experiencing for quite some time now.

His dull sea green eyes opened slowly, hating the spots that danced around his eyes in a mocking manner. Slowly his vision cleared enough for him to see the things that made him shut his eyes so tightly every time he was here.

_Mirrors._ Everywhere.

They were placed around the room like paint would be applied to sheet rock. No matter where he looked, the floor, the left, the right, above, in front, behind all he saw were the reflected images of himself being raped and pillaged by this man that so easily towered over him; so easily overpowering him in every way.

And finally… his euphoria hits him like the death kissed bullet to his worthless enemy's head. He cries out, low and hoarse and he rips his length from the small quivering form below him. He keels, straddling the quivering form and wipes his forehead, the sticky white substance slowly dripping from his length.

"You know what you must do now," He said. And slowly, the cleaning process began. The tongue that was clamped behind clenched teeth and bone and tightened skin and muscle was slowly escaping parted lips and running along his length, taking in the vile taste and then, finally, swallowing.

The man before him was please, extremely pleased. He stood up, patted the boy's head and smiled a smile only the devil could own.

In a guttural tone, so soft, so evil, he said, "You may leave now, Demyx. You're work here is done." He gets up from the bed, leaving Demyx there, wrapped up in the blanket covered with semen and blood; his blood.

"Yes, master…," Demyx said, his voice soft, barely below a whisper.

His master gripped the raw scalp of the younger man before him as his hawk eyes narrowed into slits, "and if I _ever_ hear that you've disregarded your debts and duties to me, I'll see to it that you're punishment will be handled in the most painful ways known."

Demyx's sea green eyes widened a bit, he _knew _that threat. He knew the meaning behind it. And he hated it.

"Y…yes, master…," Demyx's voice quivered with the overpowering fear he was choking down as the man before him untied his hands from the bedpost. The man placed a tan hand on his head, scuffing his dark hair, and with that, the taller man left, leaving Demyx sitting on the bed in which he was violated so many times before, left alone to stare at his disgusting vile form in the mirrors that littered the entire room, the cracked ones underneath the bed and along the wall behind the bed frame. It made him nauseated to even think that he could be alive after the things he was, is and will be put through by that man; that horrid, wretched man.

Xemnas Florin.

It took him four hours to get back home, even with the twenty minutes it took finding his clothes and walking out of that wretched house. When he walked up the stairs onto his floor, he noticed a box outside of his door. He was cautious walking up to it and found that it was addressed to the person living across from him. He sighed, wanting to take a long hot boiling shower and crawl into bed, but knew that this stupid package would never leave his mind if he didn't deliver it. So he ruffled his hair, making it stand up more like it usually does and picked up the box. He turned promptly around and knocked on the door which was answered a minute later.

It was a girl, "yes?" her slate colored hair covered her left eye and she seemed extremely tried, but horrifically alert.

Demyx's eyebrows rose as she glanced around the hallway cautiously, "Uhm, hi. I'm from across the hall and this package is for you so I just thought I'd give it to you."

"Package…?" The girl asked staring down at the outstretched box. She took it, confused as she turned it to read the return address.

"Oh, yes… _this_ package. Thank you," she said rather smugly.

Demyx nodded, smiling, "My name's Demyx by the way, Demyx Turnstiles." If there was one thing he'd get out of this horrid day, it would be a new friend.

"Wait, Demyx Turnstiles? Aren't you the guy who plays the guitar every Saturday night at Everlasting Café?" the girl asked, setting the box down by her feet before looking him in the eye.

Demyx couldn't help but be proud that she recognized him, "Yup, that's me! So, can you grace me with a name?"

"Oh, how rude of me," she said softly as she outstretched her hand. "It's Ximora Moore, nice to meet you, Demyx." He took her hand, just then noticing her attire. She was wearing a black sweatshirt that was, if not a bit formfitting, ragged and torn in places, mostly around the hems. She had pants that were torn at the bottom as well, but what shocked him more than her attire or the way her blue eyes glanced around the hall cautiously was her last name and that necklace she was wearing so proudly.

"Moore, as in the famous cellist Zexion Moore… or…," Demyx said, completely flabbergasted.

"Uh," She began, unsure of what to say. Demyx barely noticed he was too busy freaking out.

"Oh my god, I'm shaking hands with the sister of the Cellist Zexion MOORE! MOORE for crying out loud! This is too amazing!"

"Look, Demyx, just because I have the same last name as him doesn't mean we're related for crying out loud." Demyx stopped to look at her.

"You mean you're not? But you look exactly like him, if not more feminine."

"Listen, Demyx, can we not talk about this out here? I'd much rather a more… private place to have this conversation." Her eyes darted around the empty hallway, turning to slits every now and then. He assumed she didn't want anybody else to know, which she didn't.

"Oh yeah, sure, would it be okay if I got back to you in about an hour? I've got to do some things before I can feel comfortable enough to prolong this conversation…"

Even though he hadn't said anything about what had happened to him, her eyes sparked with recognition and she nodded, her eyebrows pulling together, "Yes… of course, take as much time as you need, it'll give me time to pull my thoughts together… oh, and Demyx?"

She continued after he hummed, "Thank you… and what kind of tea do you like?"

"Any kind is fine, thanks for asking."

"Alright, my door will be open, just knock before entering."

Demyx nodded, and backed up as she retreated into her apartment. He sighed and opened his shitty door into his shitty little apartment which he always made the best of. He closed the door behind him and exhaled, his breath shaking. He couldn't take it anymore, the trails of that man's hands lingered over his form and finally, the nausea couldn't be contained any longer. He sprinted to his bathroom and began to dry heave. Oh, how he wished he could stop this all from happening. He wished there was some twisted way for him to just _end it all, without ending his own life._ There had to be some way around this… but the future looked bleak and miserable. He still had so many debts to pay off because of his father and he had no idea how the hell he was supposed to do that without giving Xemnas his body as payment. He didn't have any money, his job as a clerk at the local music shop wasn't paying him enough, so he had to go and get a job singing at the Everlasting Café.

As soon as he had finished filing through his thoughts and dry heaving, he turned to his shower and turned it on, stripping down and climbing into the steaming hot water. He washed himself thoroughly enough his skin was raw and stinging from the hot water that was becoming cold all too soon. Demyx sighed and turned the water off, afraid of what his landlord would say if he stayed in their too long. He got out and dried himself off slowly, then wrapped the towel around his waist and went to go look for clothes. He settled for jeans and a loose black long sleeved tee-shirt and an off-set-white scarf before heading across the hall.

He knocked on the door, pre-required of him, and waited for the answer.

"Demyx," Ximora began. "That's you, yes?"

"Yeah," Demyx replied. "It's me, Xima."

There were footsteps before she opened the door with a small smile, "come in, Demyx. But, might I ask what you called me?"

Demyx smiled and entered her small abode. What surprised him was the décor. It was all black with little to no furniture, and here he thought, the sister of Zexion Moore, would be living in style. There was a red couch in the living room, and a small flat screen TV hooked to the wall. In front of the couch was a small glass coffee table. In the kitchen, the only spot with white walls, he presumed, had a wooden table and the regular necessities needed for a kitchen. He was handed a cup of tea before she fell back into the recesses of her apartment, her own in hand.

"I called you Xima," Demyx finally replied, looking at the girl in front of him. "I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, don't worry about it, it's fine," Ximora said, sitting down on the couch and patting the seat next to her. "So, what do you want to know?"

Demyx timidly crossed the threshold and sat down next to Xima, taking a sip of his tea, "well, are you related to Zexion Moore?"

Xima took a breath inward before answering, her hands unconsciously gripping the cup, "Please, keep your mouth shut after I tell you this. Yes. I am."

Demyx had to take four deep breaths before he could fully consider himself "controlled". He placed his cup on the table before turning to her, his hands in his lap.

"Okay," he said, smiling. "Now, tell me about yourself."

"Okay…," Xima said slowly taking another sip of her tea before placing it on the table next to Demyx's. "Uhm, I'm Zexion's twin and I'm 18 years old, just like him. I play the bass, cello, acoustic guitar and I sing. I like to draw and things of that nature and I believe myself to be a computer whiz."

"So you play the cello just like your brother then," Demyx said. "Mind if I ask you for something?"

Xima tilted her head to the side, "Sure, what is it?"

"Could you, maybe, play a song with me?"

Xima blinked, "well, sure. I'm not as good as my brother, if that's what you're trying to find out…"

"Oh, no," Demyx said, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. "I just… have a song that I wanted to do with a cellist and I've never known one before. I'm sure you're just as good as your brother."

"Oh," Xima said with a slight blush. "Well, then, is there a song in particular you wanted to play?" She fiddled around a bit in a closet easily concealed by the darkness of the room before pulling out a large case.

"Actually," Demyx said, pulling out a slip of paper from his jeans. "There is. Do you mind playing this with me?"  
>Xima took the paper after putting the case down onto the floor, "<em>Sky Blue Ocean<em>?"

Demyx blushed and rubbed the back of his head, "yeah, it's something my brother and I wrote a long time ago and just recently revised. I wrote it for the cello because I've always loved the way it sounds and my brother transcribed it into guitar for me."

"I see… Before we start, you know about me, why don't I know about you?"

Demyx blushed, "Oh I'm sorry, how rude… Well, I'm Demyx Turnstiles and I play guitar, sing and I play the piano. I'm nineteen years old and I love water."

Xima chuckled a bit, "I can tell." She unzipped the bag to pull out a black and grey cello. It looked as if it had a million scratches all over it, but something told Demyx that it was meant to be that way. The bridge was solid white and the finger board was an ebony black color that stood out against the light grey strings.

"That's…," Demyx began, awestruck. "Gorgeous…"

"Oh, thank you," Xima said, pulling out a rock stopper and placing it on the couch. She pulled a chair out of the kitchen and sat down on it, positioning the rock stopper underneath the endpin she pulled out afterwards. She then ran the bow across the rosin before she swiped the bow across the strings.

"Hmmm…," she began. "I haven't played in a while but it's still in tune… interesting."

Demyx smiled as she opened the song he had created and read it over. Her eyes softened from their regular tense position as she looked up at Demyx.

"This is beautiful," She said with a soft tone. "The guitar is in the same closet, on the left side. Be gentle with it okay? It's not new."

Demyx nodded and did as he was told, pulling out the guitar case and opening it to see a regular guitar with a signature on the bottom left corner.

"Whose was this?" He asked, sitting down next to Xima on the couch. Xima looked down at the signature.

"It was my brother's first, but he couldn't play it, so he gave it to me. That's his signature because he wanted to identify it as his, even though it was mine. I think of it as a gift now, and the signature is just something that connects the two of us. He has one of my instruments as well, but that's another story," Xima said with fondness in her voice. Demyx couldn't help but smile at the relationship these two twins had.

"Well," Demyx said, running his hand along the strings. "Let's get started, then, yes?"

Xima nodded, "yes, of course."

Together, they began to play, a lovely melody filling the small apartment room, the strumming of strings against flesh, the traction of wire against hair. Vibrato and the zipping sound hands make on a guitar when shifting positions added to the ambiance of the soft yet harsh song. Waves crashing upon the shore with a dignified strum of the strings on the guitar echoed in the three beats of rest that were printed on the paper Xima stared down at. It wasn't a song, she realized. It was a lullaby. Xima held the last note in a vibrato until Demyx stopped moving his hands, the song coming to a silent end.

"Demyx," Xima began, looking at his sleepy form. "Was that a lullaby?"

Demyx looked at her with a smile that could light up any room, "You noticed that, huh?"

Xima nodded, "Why did you write this?"

Demyx's shoulders fell a bit, but the smile never wavered, "I wrote it for my brother a long time ago."

Xima looked down at the piece of music in front of her, thinking as her eyes became half lidded, "Demyx, maybe you should rename the song."

"Why would I do that?"

She changed the subject, pulling a pencil out of the cup on the coffee table, "What is your brother's name?"

"It's Cloud, but I don't understand what you're trying to accomplish here."

"Is he older or younger than you?"

"He's older, but can you answer me for once?"

Xima quickly scribbled out the original title and renamed it, shoving the piece of paper into Demyx's hands, "there."

Demyx looked down at the music his eyes widening slightly at the name, "_Clouding Rebellion: Sky's Blue Ocean_?"

"Do you like it?" Xima asked, with a smirk. Demyx didn't care to notice the glimmer of knowing in her eyes as he nodded, folding the piece of paper back into the square he had originally made for it.

"Thank you," Demyx said. Xima nodded as Demyx's phone rang three times before shutting off. Demyx closed his eyes, his shoulder's tensing. He knew _exactly_ who it was. A second vibration echoed throughout the silent room, signaling a text message as he stood up, placing the guitar on the couch next to Xima.

He forced a smile, "I have to go now, Xima. I'm sorry."

Xima's eyes narrowed, "Is something wrong, Demyx?"

Demyx replied too quickly for his liking, "No! Of course not!"

"Demyx you're lying to me aren't you?"

"I would never lie to you, Xima."

"You must remember we just met, Demyx," she said as she closed her eyes before reopening them, fiery blue staring into nervous sea green. "I could be lying to you and you wouldn't even notice it, now would you? So tell me, why do you trust me so easily?"

Demyx paused, his mouth opening and closing, contemplating what he should say, "…Because you don't give me any reason to." That received a raised eyebrow.

"You've let me into your home, told me about you and your bothers relationship and I don't get any strange vibes from you, okay? You seem like someone I could really get to know and trust and, quite frankly, I don't want to lose that."

Xima dipped her head down as Demyx's phone rang another three times before shutting off followed closely by another text message. He was getting impatient.

"Look," Demyx said, backing up towards the door, "I really need to leave, I'm sorry about all this. Maybe we could get together tomorrow and talk?"

Xima looked up, her own burden lying over her head as her home phone rang four times before shutting off, "yes, I would like that. Meet me here tomorrow around six thirty and we'll go out for dinner, how's that?"

Demyx nodded, opening the door, "Sounds like a plan." He walked out, leaving Xima to her thoughts.

_"He's such a nice boy," _she thought standing up to answer the phone when it rang again.

"Hello," she said flatly, receiving a grunt from the other end of the line. "What can I do for you today?"

Demyx sighed, walking down the street, fingers flying over his keyboard, replying as quickly as he could while walking toward his destination. The idled car's passenger side door at the corner of Lincoln and Monarch and out stepped a man.

"He will not be pleased when he hears of your tardiness," The man said, his voice gruff and low, as if to disguise it.

Demyx nodded and opened the door to the back seat, sliding in, "Yes, I know." He closed it and the man in front of him sat down on the seat and closed the door as well, and they drove off.


End file.
